The instant after, the fire that had flamed up in
her died out. Feebly and slowly she reached out her hand to the nearest
chair, and sat down in it with her back to Arnold. "He has deserted me!"
was all she said. The words fell low and quiet on the silence: they were
the utterance of an immeasurable despair.
"You are wrong!" exclaimed Arnold. "Indeed, indeed you are wrong! It's
no excuse--it's the truth. I was present when the message came about his
father."
She never heeded him, and never moved. She only repeated the words
"He has deserted me!"
"Don't take it in that way!" pleaded Arnold--"pray don't! It's dreadful
to hear you; it is indeed. I am sure he has _not_ deserted you." There
was no answer; no sign that she heard him; she sat there, struck to
stone. It was impossible to call the landlady in at such a moment as
this. In despair of knowing how else to rouse her, Arnold drew a chair
to her side, and patted her timidly on the shoulder. "Come!" he said, in
his single-hearted, boyish way. "Cheer up a little!"
She slowly turned her head, and looked at him with a dull surprise.
"Didn't you say he had told you every thing?" she asked.
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